


Under the Influence

by indefinissable



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Casual Morning Bondage, Dom Misha, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Impact Play, M/M, Open Relationships, Paddling, Polyamory, Spanking, Sub Jared, Sub Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 08:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefinissable/pseuds/indefinissable
Summary: Inspired by that story from JibCon about Misha renting a house and Jared sleeping on the floor next to his bed and subscribing to pay-per-view gay porn under his name.





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [interstitial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstitial) for all the practical advice and [themegalosaurus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus) for the accompanying gifs (and also for password and title suggestions and general hilarity).
> 
> Warning: This fic depicts an imagined BDSM relationship. While I have tried for the most part to do so responsibly and realistically, this is a work of fiction and not intended to be a guide for safe or advisable play. In particular, breathplay via choking (which is referenced but happen offscreen) is extremely dangerous and never safe to practice in real life for reasons that are explained in detail [here](http://www.telecomassociation.com/pubs/chokinggamereport/files/aea3.htm). That said, have fun reading about it happening in a fictional context!

Misha wakes up before his alarm with the sun creeping in around the curtains. The sound of birds in the trees outside tells him it’s probably still too early to be awake, considering they didn’t get home from work until almost four. But Misha has plans for this morning, and he definitely needs to be awake in order to execute them properly.

On the floor next to the bed, Jared is still asleep and snoring loudly. As much as he’d whinged about the lack of beds in the house when he got here, he’d acquiesced easily enough to the idea of sleeping on the floor next to Misha, preferred it to sleeping on the couch or in the bed with him. Jared will sleep anywhere. He’s easy like that. Undisturbed, he won’t wake for another few hours at least, but Misha makes sure his laptop is hidden when he gets out of bed, just in case.

Misha showers quickly and then goes downstairs. He’s the first one up. After he gets a pot of coffee brewing, he sits on the couch and spends more time than he’s willing to admit trying to hack the password Jared set up on the pay-per-view. A futile effort, of course, but he has to try at least.

After a while there’s movement upstairs and then Jensen stumbles down the stairs, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. He grumbles something incoherent in Misha’s direction, fumbles with the coffee pot until he’s got himself a cup, then sits down on the couch. He takes a sip of the coffee and lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Misha reaches over, rubs at Jensen’s neck and shoulders. “You’re articulate this morning.”

“Mm.” Jensen sags toward him, rolls his head onto Misha’s shoulder.

From this angle, Misha has a good view of his throat, long and pale and undeniably marked with bruises, purple shadows in the shape of fingertips. “Shit,” he says. “You’re still marked up.”

Jensen sighs again. “Fuck,” he says. His first real word of the day. Misha takes a second to appreciate the way it sounds in his mouth, dry and a little hoarse. “Wardrobe’s gonna give me shit again. I told you to take it easy.”

“I might feel bad if that wasn’t such a massive fucking lie,” Misha says. He touches two fingers to one of the bruises, presses in until Jensen flinches. “You were begging me to go harder.”

“Hmm,” Jensen says, dreamy. “Worth it.” He swats Misha’s hand away abruptly, sits back up and gestures to where Misha has clearly been struggling with the TV. “You give Jared hell last night?”

“Nah,” Misha says. “He was dead on his feet. He needed to crash. I have plans for this morning, though.”

Jensen drains his coffee, then stands. “Ooh, big bad dom. So ominous. I’m going to shower.”

Misha swats his ass. “Watch it, or you’re next.”

Jensen pours himself another cup of coffee and goes back up the stairs. He’s the only person Misha knows desperate enough to take coffee _into_ the shower with him. Misha has wondered more than once how he manages to drink it without spilling or ending up with a mug full of tepid shower water. Some things are better left undiscovered.

A few tries at the password later, Misha gives up and goes back into the bedroom.

Jared’s still asleep in his nest of blankets on the floor. He’s rolled onto his stomach and the sheet has slipped low on his waist, exposing the long line of his spine, the lean muscle in his shoulders and arms, the dip of his lower back. Even in sleep, there are dark shadows under his eyes. He’s looking a little pale, fighting the worn-down sickness that comes with end-of-season exhaustion. It’s nothing a few days relaxing by his pool in Austin won’t fix. Jared’s anxious to get home, and it shows. He’s been keyed-up and jittery the whole shoot, even more restless than usual. Outside of work, he’s been taking it out on Misha (and the house’s poor landlord, who’s wound up with an expensive year-long subscription to explicit twink porn). When he’s strung as high as he has been lately, Misha knows how hard it can be to bring him down.

Misha goes to the window and opens the curtains so morning light floods the room. He pulls the black bag out from under the bed and unzips it, retrieves a band of soft fabric. Then he sits on the edge of the bed and nudges Jared in the ribs with his bare foot. He waits until Jared stirs, rolling onto his side and stretching lazily, before kneeling down and slipping the blindfold over Jared’s eyes.

“Wha’?” Jared reaches up toward his face, sleep-slow, stills when Misha catches his wrists, trapping him. “Mm. Timezit?”

“Time for you to quit being a little shit and take what you deserve,” Misha says.

That gets a smug little smile tugging at the corners of Jared’s mouth. “Still haven’t figured out the password, huh?”

Misha responds by gripping Jared’s wrists tight enough to hurt.

Jared hisses low, squirms a bit. He could get free easily if he wanted to. “Can’t. Got work.”

“There’s time,” Misha says shortly. “What’s your color?”

“Green,” Jared says, a little breathless already. His cock is starting to fill out against his thigh, flushed dark and inviting. “Green.”

Misha releases his wrists. “Get on your stomach. Hands at your sides.” He doesn’t wait for Jared to comply before returning to the bag, pulling out a long strip of thick fabric, earplugs, and a length of rope.

When he looks back, Jared’s on his stomach, arms down at his sides, head on the pillow. Waiting as patiently as he can, but Misha can see he’s already getting restless, itching to take the blindfold off and join the world but willing to see where Misha is going to take things.

“Oh, _now_ you’re deciding to be good.”

Jared licks his lips. “We’ll see.”

Misha flicks his arm hard and Jared yelps. “Pay attention. If I tap your shoulder twice”—he demonstrates—“I want you to give me a color. If you decide not to pay attention and don’t answer me, I stop the scene.”

Jared nods. “Green.”

Then Misha plugs Jared’s ears. The plugs are foam and won’t block out sound entirely, but they’ll make it more difficult for him to keep track of what’s going on. It’ll force him to focus, to quit overthinking things the way he always does.

Misha straddles Jared’s lower back, resting most of his weight on his knees. He takes one of Jared’s hands, draws it behind him, up high between his shoulder blades. Repeats the motion on the other side. “Touch your palms together,” he says, turning Jared’s wrists to get the proper position.

Jared does his best to hold still while Misha binds his wrists behind his back. His breathing changes at the pull on his shoulders, his chest. Getting tied up isn’t Jared’s favourite. He’s always bursting with nervous energy, too keyed-up to stay still long enough for anything like this. Misha’s taking pity on him, exacting punishment when Jared’s still slow with sleep and his brain hasn’t fully woken up to its normal rapid cycling.

“Relax your shoulders,” Misha says, smoothing his hand between Jared’s shoulder blades. The muscle loosens under his hand and Jared’s breathing slows, deepens. He taps Jared’s shoulder twice, firm.

“Green,” Jared says.

Misha takes his time binding Jared’s wrists, looping the rope around his forearms a few times to secure the hold. He likes the way the black rope looks on Jared, against the corded muscle of his forearm, the pale skin at the inside of his wrist. There’s heat pooling in Misha’s groin but it isn’t necessarily sexual at this point. Misha is good at this, and he takes pride in his work.

When he’s almost finished, Jared starts getting impatient. He shifts, restless, says, “Can you go any faster? I have to piss.”

Misha flicks him again, leans forward and grips his chin, speaks close to his ear so he can hear. “Do I have to gag you?”

Jared struggles a bit, but when Misha pins him between the shoulder blades he’s stuck, can’t get leverage without use of his arms. After a minute, he sighs, gives up. It’s always this way with Jared. Even though he wants this, there’s always that push-pull of power, always Jared letting Misha know he’s the one in control. It takes a lot for him to give even this much over.

When Jared’s finished his little outburst, Misha climbs off his back. He nudges him with his toe again. “Sit up.”

Arms trapped behind him, Jared wiggles around a bit. He rolls onto his side, gets a knee under him and his forehead on the ground and pushes himself up into a kneeling position from there.

From there, Misha loops more rope around Jared’s arms and chest, just below the firm line of his pecs, trapping his biceps at his sides and his forearms securely against his back. Then he bends down and grips Jared’s elbow, pulls him up to stand and walks him the few feet to the bed. Jared jumps a little when his knees make contact with the edge of the bed but he folds down onto it easily enough, lies face-down on his stomach again.

Misha strokes a hand down Jared’s leg, grabs his ankle and knee and bends the leg up and forward. “Ankles up. Under your butt.”

“Oh c’mon, man,” Jared scoffs. “You’re gonna hogtie me?”

Misha doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he picks up the cloth gag. Misha grabs Jared’s jaw hard, brings the gag to his lips. Jared grunts, pain or surprise maybe. Still, he opens easily enough, letting Misha fit the fabric between his teeth and fasten it behind his head.

Jensen likes the ball gag but it hurts Jared’s jaw beyond what’s comfortable, makes him feel stifled in a bad way. He doesn’t mind this one though, during the times he can’t stop compulsively running his mouth.

Next, Misha digs around in the bag until he finds the little round bell. He puts it between Jared’s loosely clasped palms. Then he removes one of the earplugs so he knows Jared can hear him, says “Ring it if you need to stop.” He waits until Jared nods and then puts the foam plug back.

This time Jared cooperates when Misha manoeuvres his ankles into the air, holds them there while Misha binds them. He’s starting to sweat, shifting uncomfortably at the strain in his shoulders and back, the uncomfortable twist of his arms. The muscles in his shoulders tense and flex as he tries unsuccessfully to stretch them out.

Jared’s breathing gets a little tight again when Misha binds his arms and feet together. Misha sooths a hand down his side, that long vulnerable stretch of skin. “Relax,” he says, and keeps up the motion until Jared does.

When he’s finished, Jared’s knees are spread and his ankles are crossed, bound and immobilized just under the curve of his ass. A couple more inches and his heels would be bumping up against his balls, nestled at the apex of his thighs. From his ankles, a long line of rope extends up the cleft of his ass and over the arch of his lower back, fastened at its other end to the cord binding his forearms to his back, below his wrists. Every part of him is exposed, from the bony knobs of his feet to the rosy flush of his cheeks, the spit-damp edges of his pink mouth.

He leans in close to Jared’s ear, says, “You’re so gorgeous like this.”

Jared shivers at the praise, makes a weak little noise in his throat.

There’s noise down the hall, and then Jensen comes into the room, damp and sweet-smelling from his shower.

He stops short in the doorway when he sees Jared, whistles low. “Wow.”

“He’s about to get his punishment,” Misha says. “Do you wanna stay?”

Jensen nods, touches his throat reflexively. “Can I touch him?”

Misha beckons him closer. “Go ahead.”

Jared tenses at Jensen’s approach, obviously aware of his presence. Coils up like he’s ready to run even though he can’t move. He gets funny about anyone seeing him like this, even Jensen. Nervous about admitting he likes this, needs it. Thinks it makes him weak or something.

Jensen fingers the ropes binding Jared’s arms, touches the blindfold and the corners of Jared’s mouth where he’s clasping the gag between his teeth. “You look really good, Jay,” he rumbles, deep and a little breathless. “Nice work, boss.”

“Oh, he’s not finished yet,” Misha says. “Pass me the bag and then sit down on the floor. Don’t touch yourself.”

Jensen does, and Misha pulls out the paddle. It’s simple but finely made, wooden with evenly spaced holes cut out of the surface. When he touches it lightly to the curve of Jared’s ass, Jared tenses up instantly, balks.

Misha removes one earplug again. “I’m going to hit you now. I’ll warm you up with my hand and then give you ten with the paddle. This is your punishment for trying to humiliate me yesterday. Nod if you understand.”

The thing about Jared is that he doesn’t really enjoy pain, doesn’t get off on it like Jensen does. But sometimes it’s the only thing that can get him out of his head. He acts up on purpose so Misha will give him this, a straightforward system of behaviour and punishment too simple for him to second-guess or get his self-worth tangled around the way he does with everything else.

Jared has all the power here. The bell is in his hand. With only a little hesitance, he nods.

Without waiting for the anticipation to spiral any higher, Misha brings his open palm down hard on Jared’s ass. There’s a satisfying _crack_ and a muffled little groan from Jared, tension in his legs at the shock. Then Misha does it again.

He spanks Jared for a while, spacing the blows out. They’re far enough apart that Jared jerks every time, lets out stifled surprised noises Misha isn’t sure he knows he’s making.

“C’mon, let it go,” Misha mumbles half-consciously, delivering a stinging smack to the crease of Jared’s ass and thigh that makes him shudder.

He keeps going until his palm is stinging lightly and Jared’s ass is warm and pink. Then he picks up the paddle, rubs the perforated wood over reddened skin a few times, savouring the drag. Next to the bed, Jensen is breathing shallowly, rubbing his palms against his thighs. His dick must be pressing uncomfortably in his jeans, must need adjusting, but Misha had told him not to touch himself and Jensen is so good.

At the first strike from the paddle, Jared flinches hard and grunts deeper than before, from his chest. The impact is heavier than Misha’s hand, resonates through his arm and leaves delicious red circles imprinted on Jared’s ass, already fading by the time he gears up for another blow.

By the third impact, Jared is shaking, arms and legs and breath and it doesn’t stop between strikes. The fifth has him keening in his throat, a high constant whine that scrapes up from his chest and makes the tendons in his neck stand out. The seventh time Misha hits him, Jared sucks in a breathy gasp and a tear spills out from under the blindfold, tracks down his cheek and soaks into the gag.

All the tension seems to bleed out of him at once then, sudden in its shivering intensity. He moans through the last three strikes but he’s finally stopped struggling, has shut his brain down and stopped thinking so fast for once. He’s lost, but Misha is here to tether him.

After the tenth strike, Misha sets the paddle down and strokes the marked-up skin of Jared’s ass. Jared shudders. He’s red and a little welted, but the marks should fade before too long. They’ll sting for a couple of days, but not so much that he’ll be in any real pain.

Jared’s cheeks are flushed and wet and his chin is shiny with saliva under the gag. He’s sweating, hair sticking tacky to the back of his neck. He’s shivering all over, little tremors hitching in his chest, shuddering through his feet and hands, still clasped around the bell behind his back.

Misha leans down and removes the earplugs. “Good boy,” he purrs, and Jared shakes harder. Next he unties the gag and eases it out from between Jared’s teeth. His mouth is wet and swollen like he’s been kissed, lips flushed a dark pink. He pants open-mouthed at the flood of oxygen, struggling to catch his breath.

Then the blindfold comes off and Jared blinks his eyes open for the first time today, squinting against the light. His eyes are glassy and a bit bloodshot. He blinks a few times rapidly, struggling to get his bearings immediately.

“Hi,” Misha says.

Jared mouths _Hey_ back, but no sound comes out yet.

“Think you can stay like this a bit longer?”

Jared licks his lips. “It’s. A lot,” he whispers. “But I want to.”

“You’ve done so well,” Misha says, strokes the sweaty hair back off his forehead. “You’re so good, Jared.”

Jared closes his eyes and practically melts under the praise, but he’s already coming back to himself. He always comes online pretty quickly, doesn’t really go _down_ the same way Jensen does.

Speaking of going down…

“Jensen.” Misha beckons him up from where he’s been waiting patiently on the floor, watching. He puts his hand to Jensen’s neck again and Jensen nuzzles into the touch like an affectionate cat. “He’s been so good. I think he’s earned a reward. Don’t you?”

Jensen agrees enthusiastically and Jared’s eyes go dark with arousal.

Together, they turn Jared over on his side. He’s no more than halfway hard from all the confusing sensation, but he moans when Jensen crawls down the length of his body and swallows down his cock without preamble (something only someone with years of experience handling Jared’s cock could manage). It has to drive Jared insane not to be able to touch Jensen—normally he’d be threading his fingers through Jensen’s hair, touching the seam of his lips and pushing his fingers in alongside his cock. He’s still a little too out of it to talk dirty, so it’s mostly quiet aside from the slick sounds of Jensen’s mouth on him and the occasional breathy grunt.

Still, it’s Jensen, so it doesn’t take long before Jared’s tensing and going still, his whole body forming one graceful arch. He comes on a breathless _oh_ , eyebrows drawing together and mouth forming a little pink circle.

Jensen swallows every drop like the good boy he is. After, he rests his head on Jared’s hip, strokes the soft skin and fine bone jutting out there.

Misha circles around behind them. He unbinds Jared’s legs first, kisses the knob of each ankle and lowers it gently to the mattress. Jared flexes his calves, wiggles his toes experimentally. Then Misha sets to work on his arms, untying the ropes around his chest and forearms and finally his wrists, easing the bell from between his palms.

Jared whimpers when his arms are freed, his shoulders cramping from being twisted around for so long. “Fuck,” he grits out, high and thready. He shifts uncomfortably, struggling to escape the pins-and-needles sensation. “Hurts.”

Misha helps him roll onto his back, kisses his fingers and his upturned palms, rubs feeling back into his arms. “Relax,” he murmurs.

Jensen kisses Jared’s hipbone, then sits up. “I’m gonna get him some water.”

“Thanks,” Misha says. He keeps massaging Jared’s arms until Jared goes still, relaxing against the mattress.

Eventually, Jared lets out a long breath. “Wow. That was.”

“Amazing?” Misha supplies. “Mind-blowing? Life-altering? Just throwing out suggestions here.”

Jared smiles, fond and a little loopy. “An interesting wake-up call.”

Misha can’t help smiling back when Jared looks at him like that. “What, no smartass comment?”

Jared stretches, happy and relaxed. “Oh, my _ass_ is _smarting_ all right.” He wrinkles his nose. “What time is it? Gotta shower. Call Gen and the kids.”

He sits up slow. Misha keeps a steadying hand on his shoulder.

Jensen comes back then, passes the glass of water to Jared, who drains it in one go. “You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Like, really good. Thanks.”

He sets the empty glass on the bedside table, leans over and smacks a kiss on Misha’s cheek. Then he stands stiffly and stretches, joints popping, picks his phone up off the floor and heads out the door, presumably to shower. Already back and functioning at double-speed again.

Jensen sits next to Misha and shakes his head. “Seriously, how does he get hogtied and spanked into oblivion and then just walk it off five minutes later?”

Misha raises his eyebrows. “Just because you’re reduced to a puddle the second anyone so much as manhandles you and don’t return to human form for several hours afterward doesn’t mean everyone’s as much of a slut for it as you are.”

“Shut up,” Jensen says flatly. He takes Misha’s hand and brings it to his crotch, so Misha can feel how hard he is under the demin. He leans close to Misha’s ear. “That was fucking hot, Mish.”

Misha turns his head to kiss him and groans into Jensen’s mouth. He tastes like Jared.

“C’mon,” Jensen says, low and wrecked, hand coming to the front of Misha’s pants. “I’m still loose from last night.”

God, it’s tempting. The scene with Jared got him pretty riled up. He sighs, pushes Jensen away reluctantly. “No time. We need to get Jared to eat something before pick-up.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and moves to stand.

Misha clamps a hand down on Jensen’s thigh. “If you’re good, I’ll let you come today.”

Jensen’s throat clicks audibly as he swallows. “Uh. Right. Roger that.”

Misha pats his cheek consolingly. “Let’s go make breakfast.”

(Later, after Jared and Jensen are gone on their way to set but Misha isn’t getting picked up for another hour yet, his phone buzzes with a text from Jared.

_Sorry for subscribing you to twink porn. I know you’re more into studs. If you want to rethink your subscription options, the password is ‘daddypadalecki82’._

Misha smiles.

 _Good boy_.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always adored! You can find me on tumblr [@withthedemonblood](http://withthedemonblood.tumblr.com).


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